


My North, My South (my East and West)

by unbelieve



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bc i do, idk man I just need them to have each other, it's like... more compliant with book canon probably but it's not Counter to movie canon so, sorta??, there's like one swear in this sorry, yall ever think about how especially in the book version they were children, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelieve/pseuds/unbelieve
Summary: If Alby had known that being the leader meant nights like this, nights spent clinging to right and wrong in the growing dark, he would've ceded the position long before it was ever his. But he has Newt, and Newt has him, and they'll pull each other through because they have to. You don't get to break with the eyes of the world on you.
Relationships: Alby/Newt (Maze Runner)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Pieces of Nalby





	My North, My South (my East and West)

**Author's Note:**

> _He was my North, my South, my East and West,_  
>  _My working week and my Sunday rest_  
>  -"Funeral Blues," W.H. Auden

“Tell me we did the right thing,” Alby says, voice just barely kept from shaking, “and I’ll believe you.”

He can still hear Ben’s screams, cut off by the doors in the real world but echoing, echoing, echoing in his head. Although it seems unlikely at this point that he’ll live to be old, if he does, he thinks he’ll still be able to recall that sound perfectly. 

Newt is silent for a moment, his expression written in a language Alby can’t read in the half-dark, before he says, “I think you did what you could.”

“But was it the right thing?” And everything hangs on this. Newt will not lie to him; he knows this. Newt will weigh his soul with a feather-light touch, and if he is damned he will accept his damnation with as much dignity as he can muster. 

“I don’t know,” Newt says, and Alby watches his jaw tighten in the way it does when he’s trying not to cry. “I don’t know, but if it was the wrong thing, I was part of it too.”

And Alby knows what he’s saying: “Don’t make me pass judgment when the blood on our hands is the same.”

There is an unseen magnet pulling at the poles of the compass they hold between them, true north lost somewhere in its spin. It’s not fair to expect Newt to have all the answers, but when the needle doesn’t point to him, Alby’s not sure how to navigate. The pattern of the stars means nothing in this place. They’d checked. 

Finally, Newt seems to make some kind of choice. “I think we tried. Maybe it was the wrong thing, but I think we tried, and we weren’t the ones who put us here.”

Alby’s not sure he buys the shifting of blame. He’s not sure Newt does either, but he understands the need to keep from stumbling like he understands Newt’s fear of the Maze, and so he’ll stop himself from arguing if it keeps them both on their feet. 

Still. “It doesn’t feel any better.”

“I know,” Newt says softly, and in that moment they’re both breakable, like the same resonant frequency could shatter them both. 

Alby doesn’t cry much anymore. He makes decisions and he lives with them, and he does what he can to keep the guilt from crushing anyone else instead. It doesn’t leave him a lot of room to cry about it. Tonight, though, he feels every bruise, every broken bone from every fight he’s ever lost, and god, it stings so badly. Every name they cross out on the wall is someone else he’s failed, and tonight there will be another. Every time he looks at Ben’s name, the scar will bleed again, just like it does for Nick and George and Stephen and far too many others.

Newt pulls the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and wipes at Alby’s tears. It’s a touch too gentle for everything they know, lingering on his skin even when Newt’s hand has moved away, and Alby’s struck once again by how badly he wants this boy away from here. Maybe happiness is too much to ask for, especially for him, especially for the person he’s found himself becoming to keep this society alive, but Newt deserves a place in the world far away from this hell they’ve been given. He will get him out or he’ll die trying, but he wants to see Newt smile without the weight of the world behind it.

“I guess we should go out there,” Newt says, resignation settled into every syllable. “Make sure no one’s causing trouble or anything.” 

He squares his shoulders and turns to leave, but Alby catches his wrist. “Give it another second. Your face is still red.” Newt has the kind of fair skin that gets flushed when he so much as thinks about crying, true, but just as true as that is the fact that Alby isn’t ready to break the glass around this moment. It’s not safe, nothing in their short, shitty lives has ever been safe, but he’s afraid that if someone else looks him in the eyes and asks him to justify the things he’s done, the words won’t come. 

So they don’t talk, not here. Newt slides his wrist out of Alby’s grasp, just enough to lace their fingers together, and Alby thinks he can feel the way their hearts beat just slightly out of time. Maybe he’s imagining it. It’s something like comfort anyway. 

The noises from outside filter into the Homestead, far more subdued than they normally are at this time of night, but still present. As often as Alby yells at them to be quiet after dark, he usually finds the rhythm soothing. Right now, it’s just a reminder of how many people depend on them. _How many people I can still fail,_ something in him says quietly, and he tries to swipe away the threads of it that cling like spider’s webs. It’s the kind of thought he’s run out of space for, the kind of thought he used to be able to afford, before Newt fell and before Nick died, but can’t hold onto anymore. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to leave behind. 

“Okay,” Newt says, finally breaking their silence. “Are we ready?”

Newt is braver than him. Alby knows this, just as he knows Newt would fight him about it up until the moment they’re both cold and dead if he said it out loud, so he doesn’t say anything. He just squeezes Newt’s hand for a second before letting go, one last breath before the silence shatters, and they step back into the Glade.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sad about them and alby deserves better than he got from the narrative (and, to a certain extent, from the fans). not to be ancient but i do miss when nalby was more popular bc they have such a good dynamic. anyway im subjecta5newtella on tumblr so come watch me have a tmr revival breakdown in real time if you want and if you're reading this I love you thanks


End file.
